


Kiss Kiss Bang Bang

by bookishandbossy



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, charity kissing booth au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 15:44:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3901858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookishandbossy/pseuds/bookishandbossy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fitz loses bets and Jemma can't say no to her roommate.  Or, the unforeseen side benefits of kissing a stranger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss Kiss Bang Bang

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ruthedotcom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruthedotcom/gifts).



Kissing booths were remarkably unhygienic and inefficient and really, if she wanted to support any particular charity, she'd simply donate money to it herself because Jemma Simmons was a practical, sensible being and most definitely not the kind of person who'd allow herself to be duped into sitting at a kissing booth for a two and a half hour shift while her best friend was off canoodling somewhere. 

“Think of the orphans, Jemma,” Skye had said, giving her the puppy-dog eyes that were capable of convincing Jemma to order takeout for the third night in a row, not tell their hot neighbor that they'd been using his wifi, or buy the five-inch heels that were both out of Jemma's price range and a severe case of wishful thinking, when it came to both her ability to walk in them and her ability to find someone to show them off to. In her defense, Jemma had tried to stand strong. But then, of course, Skye had brought up the great Taser Incident of March 2014 (even though it had been Skye's friend Darcy that had started it) and Jemma had caved. And so, after a few more references to the starving orphans and promises to buy groceries for the next week, Skye had run off with Trip, who'd turned out to be strangely okay with his wifi being stolen once he'd found out who was stealing it, and Jemma was stuck.

Luckily, her shift didn't seem to be at prime kissing booth hours, since a grey and drizzly Sunday morning was quite possibly the least romantic time of day ever. The only people she'd had so far was a pair of awkward teenage boys, shepherded along by an exasperated-looking girl who'd lectured them on kissing technique for a full ten minutes afterward, and one strangely familiar blonde who'd spent about half an hour chatting with Jemma and waiting for her date to come back from trying to rig the carnival games. “I told him that it was all for charity,” the other woman explained. “And that therefore he should actually _want_ to lose, but I think lose is just another four-letter word in Tony's vocabulary.”

That was when Jemma realized who the blonde woman was, opened her mouth to start gushing about Ms. Potts' support for ground-breaking research in the field of microbiology, thought better of it, and closed her mouth with a snap. Ms. Potts, being what Jemma's friend Trip would call a true class act, said nothing about it and ended the half-hour by inviting Jemma to get frozen yogurt and talk about neural modeling with her sometime.

Ten minutes later, she was still far too busy being smug about having met Pepper Potts in the flesh, and searching under the counter for the scientific journal she just knew she'd stashed somewhere, to notice when someone rapped on the counter. Rather loudly.

“Hello!” A voice with a strong English accent called. “The sign says that you're open so unless this kissing booth is manned by the Invisible Woman--”

“Maybe they're on a break or something,” another voice—this one Scottish—said hopefully. “We can always come back later. Or, you know, never.”

“Nah, Turbo, you lost a bet,” a third man added. “Told you that you couldn't fit that many banana peppers in your mouth.”

“My offer to fix any and all household appliances for the next year still stands,” the Scottish man offered. “Wouldn't you rather have free cable permanently instead of watching me suffer momentarily? It's like we're all back in secondary school—a kissing booth? I bet it won't even be a good kiss. Good kisses don't happen in drizzle at 12:38pm. There have been studies done and they've calculated the optimal circumstances for kissing. Not that I've ever been able to recreate them but--”

Still searching under the counter, Jemma stiffened at that and huffed indignantly. Suffer momentarily? She was an absolutely fantastic kisser, practically gold-medal level. As a biologist, she knew how to maximize the experience, had even calculated the relative importance of each body part engaged in the act of kissing, assigning a value to—Anyway. She would show this mystery Scot how absolutely sublime she was and although she may have agreed with him about the general absurdity of the insitution itself, she was going to run a good kissing booth or go down trying. 

“Hello,” Jemma said brightly as she popped up from behind the counter. “Can I help you?”

“See, Fitz, she isn't scary at all. Fitz here lost a bet,” the English guy explained to Jemma, looking unbearably smug about it all.

“By one bloody banana pepper!” Fitz interjected. “If you'd given me another minute, I'd have been able to fit in in.”

“Would not.”

“Would too!” Fitz protested.

“Anyway,” the third man—tall, muscular, and with a slight resemblance to an overworked nanny—said. “Fitz lost the bet, so we decided he had to kiss a stranger. And after Hunter got us banned from most of the bars in town, we decided that this was the easiest way to do it.”

“By easiest, he means most embarrassing,” Fitz muttered. “I really am sorry about this.”

“Are you that bad?” Jemma asked curiously. No one with such a nicely symmetrical face and such extremely blue eyes could get to twenty-six and remain a terrible kisser. (She hoped.) Unless of course he'd never been kissed? Jemma eyed his mouth and wondered if there was a way to tell. 

“Any feedback would be appreciated,” the smug one put in. “When his last girlfriend broke up with him she told him that he wasn't nearly as good with his tongue as he thought he was. If you know what I mean.”

“Shut up, Hunter,” Fitz grumbled. “But yes, there was a breakup. And banana peppers and a really stupid bet. And now I'm here, about to help lots and lots of starving orphans.” He fished a long strand of pink carnival tickets out of his pocket and deposited them in the kissing booth bucket, which was unfortunately emblazoned with a giant pair of red lips. “So, ah, do I just go for it or...”

“Traditionally, the person running the kissing booth is allowed to initiate,” Jemma said primly. “You'll also have to be about two feet closer.” He shuffled closer and shut his eyes, patiently waiting, and she tried not to giggle. Right then. Showtime.

She took a deep breath, leaned forward across the booth, pressed her lips against his, and _oh_. She'd always thought that the idea of seeing fireworks when you kissed someone was patently ridiculous, but right now Jemma could swear that lights were exploding across the backs of her eyelids. It was simple, as far as kisses go: her mouth on his, one hand curled in his hair while his fingers traced the lines of her neck and hovered over her pulse, an easy give and take of breath and lips that was gentle and sweet and felt like it could go on forever. When she finally pulled away, they were both breathless, staring at each other with wide eyes, dazed expressions on their faces like they'd both woken up from a dream.

“That was...” he breathed, other hand coming up to cup her face and keep her close. 

“Amazing.” She couldn't help leaning in to brush her lips against his again and he was just about to deepen the kiss when someone coughed loudly behind them. Fitz and Jemma turned around to glare in unison at Hunter and then promptly turned back to stare at each other again. “I don't...I don't even know you.” 

“But I'd like to,” he blurted out. “Can I have your name, your number, your...or if you're free tonight? Or tomorrow? Or any night, really, just as long as it's soon?” 

“You know what,” Jemma said slowly. “I think I might be free right now.” Reaching across the booth, she flipped the sign to closed and stepped around the counter to stand right in front of him, pausing to catch her breath again. His eyes were even bluer from this angle, wide with amazement and looking at her like he could barely stand to look away. “Are you doing anything?” 

“No. But don't you have, ah...” Fitz waved vaguely at the kissing booth. “People to kiss? Starving orphans to save?” 

“See, I was thinking that maybe your friends could help out the starving orphans,” she whispered mischievously. Hunter and Mack were already standing close enough to the booth for people to assume they were manning it and Jemma was fairly sure she spotted a small-sized horde of twenty-somethings in the distance, led by a tall blonde who looked merciless (but in an attractive way). 

“I like the way you think,” he said, slipping a hand into hers and tugging her away from the booth. 

“And besides,” she added, dimpling up at him. “I think—just maybe—I've found the only person I want to kiss right here.” And, as Fitz's lips met hers again, arm sliding around her waist to hold her close, Jemma thought that, as a practical, sensible being, she was extremely right. 


End file.
